


High School Murder Club

by Hallie_Blue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, M/M, Second person POV, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallie_Blue/pseuds/Hallie_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t know when he stopped being that twitchy weird kid who was, admittedly, almost not-quite cute and became Isaac Lahey one of the tall, muscular stars of the Beacon Hills’ lacrosse team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lahey

You don’t know when he stopped being that twitchy weird kid who was, admittedly, almost not-quite cute and became Isaac Lahey one of the tall, muscular stars of the Beacon Hills’ lacrosse team. The only similarities they have, you think one day during chem class, are the fact that: A) they really are the same person, and B) the really oversized long sleeve shirts that I have always not-so-secretly believed were to hide some kind of injury. That may be the day he started being Isaac in your mind instead of just “the twitchy loner”, the day you stopped thinking the injuries he hid were self-inflicted. 

He’d just come back to school after being accused of murdering his father and, honestly, you can’t think of a reason for the cops to take him into custody other than there being something for Isaac to gain from Mr. Lahey’s death. Pair that with his suspiciously long sleeves (and really, you’re not stupid enough to not put two and two together) and you end up with the terrifying fact that Isaac Lahey had been beat to crap by his father and no one noticed. 

Then again, that might have to do with the fact that Isaac Lahey wasn’t really on anyone’s radar at school. Not the Friend Radar. Not the Mass Murderer Rader. Not the Prom-Date Radar. Sadly, not even the Abuse Victim Radar. If he had been, someone would have done something... Right? Then again, you think, the Lahey’s live right across the street from the Whittemore’s, and Jackson didn’t know about it... or, at least, you hope he didn’t... because if he had and he didn’t do anything? Well, Stilinski might finally get that chance with Lydia, because, really, you might just kill Jackson yourself... or you know... maybe you’ll just kidnap the son-of-a-bitch Stilinski-McCall style and then take Isaac with you so that you can help the boy put Jackson through everything that Isaac might have been able to avoid if he’d said something about what Wes Lahey had been doing to his own son. 

Of course, you’re getting ahead of yourself; because, really, your only proof that Isaac Lahey’s father abused him is some evidence that is circumstantial at best and memories of bruises that had mysteriously vanished during the week leading up to his father’s death (Make-up? Possibly...) therefore, you have no need to Stilinski-McCall style kidnap Jackson’s asshat self. That, however wrong it may be, is less because stealing police vehicles is a little more illegal than you’re comfortable with and more to do with the fact you have no idea whether or not Jackson knew of anything that had needed reporting. 

You look down at your Chem notes, and realize you really hadn’t taken any, but there were some formula’s scribbled hastily in a handwriting other than your own. Smiling, you recognize the writing as your lab partner, Heather’s, before rushing out into the hall once the bell rings, following your friendly neighborhood sheeple to your next class, when you get that unexpected urge to turn around. 

Giving into it, you walk back the direction from which you’d just come from. “Isaac!” You shout, spotting him with Stilinski, McCall, Reyes and Argent (a group that is both insanely hodge-podged and surprisingly cohesive), “Isaac Lahey!”

He turns towards you, saying, “What?”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know why you felt the need to do this. Perhaps it’s a guilty conscience, perhaps it’s guilt, perhaps it's just a desire to let him know he's not alone.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks you, that cocky, sexy, near-sadistic half-smile gracing his lips, “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Exactly...” You tell him, and he looks at you like he understands what you mean in a way no one ever should. His smile faltering, you continue to speak your mind, “I didn’t do anything... No one did anything.” 

“Ancient history.” he says, shrugging, “It’s cool, okay?” And he’s smiling again, only it’s less arrogant and more reassuring and nervous. 

“I...” You want to protest his dismissal, but then you sigh, smile lightly, and say, “okay.” Because really, he may have gone through Hell, and he may have some serious emotional scars, but he’s healing, it’s ancient history, it’s cool, he’ll be okay. To be honest, that’s all you’d really wanted to know.


	2. Lacrosse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You really don’t know why you’re feeling so guilty, but it probably has something to do with Jackson dying only a week after wishing him dead.

“Losing an enemy can be worse than losing a friend, if you've had him for long enough.”  
-Joe Ambrecrombie

You really don’t know why you’re feeling so guilty, but it probably has something to do with Jackson dying only a week after wishing him dead. 

It happened during the Lacrosse Championship game: one minute everyone was cheering for Stilinski to make that game winning score, the next everyone is in a panic because they just realized the co-captain of the Lacrosse team was lying on the goal line with blood gurgled out of his mouth and a gaping hole that looks like a letter-opener had been jammed repeatedly into his gut. The worst part is knowing why...or well not really why, you have know idea why...but rather knowing who killed him: himself... the letter opener used to kill him lying in his cold lifeless hand. 

It makes you physically ill, because tonight, when everyone was supposed to be celebrating Beacon Hills (finally) winning the lacrosse championship, everything has fallen into a state of nightmarish chaos and panic and Stiles is missing and Jackson is dead. 

The Sheriff is out of his mind with panic for his son, who, on the one game he’s played all season he’s made the winning goal and then disappeared into the throngs of panicking lacrosse players and spectators alike... and that’s not good for anyone, because if the sheriff is panicked everything is going to Hell in a handbasket. Not finding Stiles is making the sheriff panic, and therefore panicking anyone who may know where his son is and completely ignoring the hyperventilating {adoptive} parents of the now-deceased Jackson Whittemore. 

McCall is missing too, as is Isaac Lahey. Which is odd, because you remember Jackson had accidentally hurting him early on in the game, and there is no way that Isaac just went and and left without help, so Stiles is probably just starting his career as a human crutch. 

You tell this to the panicked sheriff, who is throttling Greenberg in a way that would probably cause him {further} brain damage if it continues any longer. The thought seems to calm him, if only slightly, and he turns to the hysterical Whittemore parents and tries to calm them enough so that he can ask them questions about their now-dead 17 year old. You, on the other hand, can’t stop staring at Jackson’s body. 

It’s true, you never much liked Jackson, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He just had one of those God-complexes that makes {Made, you mentally correct your self} him really hard to like and really easy to hate. Looking back, though, it isn’t hard to see why Jackson was always such an asshat. 

He was completely and utterly insecure: pushing people away before they got close enough to hurt him, rejecting people before they rejected him. 

Oh, Jackson, you think, why would you kill yourself? You’re on top of the food-chain...or you were before you did this. 

On the sidelines, you see that Isaac, helped by Stiles and Scott, had returned, their victorious smiles falling at the sight of Jackson’s corpse lying on the field whilst everyone present awaits the ambulance or coroner or whoever was called to collect his remains. 

His remains... that’s what really makes the concept hit home. There will be no more ass-hat in your English pelting you with spitballs... no more scathing remarks in Study Hall about how you need to lose another five [hundred] pounds. 

No more Jackson Whittemore bullying the crap out of people. 

Somehow, that seems wrong: like a nightmare you’d really like to wake up from. Last week you’d wished for this, now you wish you could make it all go away. 

“TJ! Teeje!” Isaac Lahey is calling out to you, pulling you out of the dangerous thoughts playing over and over in your head. He just wants the 411, no doubt... well, he can get in line, because when it comes to knowing what the Hell is going on, you’d like to think the people who didn’t disappear have priority... that and you really don’t have much to tell him, because, hello! The most popular guy in school killing himself just doesn’t add up...unless, you know, two-plus-two now equals five and no one told you. 

“Where were you?” You ask, manicured hands resting on your hips. You’ve never really been that close to Isaac, so you’re not sure why you feel the need to lecture him like he’s your son. Maybe it’s because of the fact you’re scared out of your mind. Maybe it’s because of the guilt you feel towards Jackson’s death is causing you to become protective of one of his handful of not-dead friends... or, you know, the closest things Jackson ever had to friends. 

“I’m just gunna...” You don’t know how, but Stiles seems to understand something you don’t about your outburst and, after helping Isaac shift his weight onto you, drags Scott to go talk with their respective parents, leaving Isaac and you some room to sort out whatever it is you’re feeling. 

“What happened?” He asks, ignoring your question entirely. “Scott and Stiles took me to the locker room to splint my leg and we come back to...to...” You watch him motions helplessly towards where his whatever-Jackson-was-to-him lay dead. 

“Letter opener to the stomach...” You pause there, hoping he doesn’t ask what you know he will. 

He raises his eyebrow in a way and says, “Well?” 

“It’s looking self-inflicted,” You say it very shakily. 

“He did it to himself?” Isaac asks. Obviously he can’t see how hard it is for you to keep your last meal from coming back up, how you’re fighting back a sob. “Oh God,” he keeps talking, because, well, he’s not sure what else to do at this point. His brain to mouth filter is completely gone and he looks as sick to his stomach as you feel. “I mean, I hated Jackson as much as the next guy, but...” he trails off mid thought. 

“Lahey, everyone hates...hated Jackson Whittemore, but no one wanted for him to die...” You speak the words, but you don’t mean them, because you know that’s not true: You’d wanted him dead afterall. It had just been a fleeting thought, that coincided with the idea that Jackson might have known that Isaac was abused and not done anything, but the desire was still there. 

You feel the bile rising in your throat again, and all you really want is to vomit up the guilt but you don’t want to get your lunch all over the second hottest person in BHHS history. Well, third, the first is now dead, so that moves Danny into first making Isaac technically number one straight guy in school. 

Speaking of Isaac, he must have caught on to your discomfort, because he’s wearing that nervous-reassuring smile that you and he (and possibly everyone in school) know breaks your heart worse than any ex-boyfriend you’ve ever had. That smile that he only gets when the super shitty comes bubbling to the surface, and, really, what’s shittier than the Lacrosse team’s co-captain offing himself during the championship game. 

No one is saying much else, because the coroner is there now, and Jackson’s dead, and what should be the happiest day in the Beacon Hills history of all things Lacrosse has turned into one of the most macabre moments in the history of life in general. There are tears, and mayhem and, in general, it seems that everything about tonight sucks ass. 

Danny Mahealani is sobbing into his knees, Jackson’s parents are sobbing into each other’s shoulders, everyone who’d wished Jackson would just go away are feeling as guilty as all Hell, and you are trying not to throw up because you wished for this. 

You have to get over that because, realistically, you know that has nothing to do with his suicide. Then again, if his life weren’t so damn perfect and you could see why he would kill himself, the guilt wouldn’t be eating you alive and Isaac Lahey would not have to comfort you (especially when you consider just how much more emotionally constipated he should be than he actually is). 

Isaac is quiet, then again so are you. What is there to say? I’m sorry? You know that’s too little, too late... You’re sorry he killed himself? You’re sorry you wished he would die? You’re sorry the Whittemore’s have to bury their son? Or maybe, You’re sorry that Jackson was a tool that karma had to come and bite him in the ass? Really, you don’t know what you’re sorry for. and that’s scary, scarier than any dead lacrosse player, because it doesn’t help anything. 

This isn’t like what had been going on with Isaac. You can’t tell Jackson you’re sorry and make everything magically okay again because Jackson is dead and that means Jackson can’t forgive you for missing the signs the way Isaac did. Because Isaac is alive, and you can apologise to him until you’re blue in the face, and he can forgive you, and he has forgiven you.

But Jackson can’t, because Jackson’s dead.


End file.
